Marco chuckled, dry and sharp. "Is this your idea of healing, Fernando? Dragging my sister here like she's part of some… peace treaty?"
Isabella's voice was steel beneath her breath. "You lost the right to call me your sister when you left me behind."
"Left you?" Marco snapped. "You think I had a choice? You have no idea what I was protecting you from."
Fernando stepped between them. "Enough. This isn't about blame. Not tonight."
Silence stretched in the room like a loaded gun. The air was thick — tension, regret, and something unspoken between the three of them.
"I didn't bring you here to reopen wounds," Fernando said to Isabella. "I brought you here because the people I care about… they don't belong in separate corners of a broken past."
Marco scoffed. "You think a few dinners and polite conversations will fix this?"
"I think," Fernando said, his tone darkening, "that we owe it to ourselves to try."
Isabella looked away, jaw clenched. The walls of the villa echoed too loudly with old pain.
Later that night, after forced dinner conversations and silent stares, Isabella wandered alone through the gardens. The moonlight bathed her in silver, and the roses seemed to bloom more bitterly under the weight of the past.
The black Maserati purred as it cut through the night, the streetlights casting flickers of gold on the leather interior. Isabella sat in the passenger seat, her arms folded tightly against her chest, eyes distant. Fernando's grip on the wheel was controlled—but tense. Neither spoke.
Marco had arrived earlier that day at the library, all charm and cruel eyes, disrupting the fragile silence they had built between themselves. His presence brought memories neither of them wanted to revisit. Especially Isabella.
They drove in silence until they reached the *Villa Rosa*, an abandoned estate on the outskirts of the city—Fernando's secret escape. Covered in ivy, stone statues crumbled under time, and the night air whispered stories long buried. It was a place no one knew existed. Except them.
"This used to be my mother's," Fernando said, unlocking the rusted gates. "Before everything went dark."
Inside, Isabella's heels clicked against the marble floor. The house was empty, but full of ghosts. Paintings were covered in dust. She paused before a cracked portrait—a woman who looked like her. "Your mother?"
He nodded once, stiffly. "She died because she trusted the wrong man. I learned early not to love too easily."
Isabella turned to him, heart fluttering. "Then why me?"
Fernando's eyes locked on hers. "Because you're the wrong choice I keep making."
Isabella remembered the night clearly now. A gala thrown by one of the city's wealthiest families. She had snuck in with a friend as a dare. Fernando had noticed her instantly—how she didn't belong. How she didn't care.
He watched her from the shadows all evening, his curiosity drawn like a moth. Later that night, he cornered her in the wine cellar. She had thought he'd call security. Instead, he handed her a glass and said, "Tell me your real name."
She didn't. He smiled. "Good. Keep your secrets."
Since then, their meetings were like storms. Short, intense, unforgettable.
Tears welled in her eyes. "You ruined me."
"No," Fernando said, stepping closer. "I saved you."
But from the shadows, someone else watched.Marco hadn't left He had followed them. And he had a plan.
"You make me forget the blood on my hands," Fernando whispered
She had smiled sadly. "And you make me feel seen."
But peace wasn't built for them.
***
Back in the room, Marco finally dropped the act. "They're coming for her, Fernando.
Isabella's heart skipped.
Marco turned to her, his voice now serious. "You really thought it was all just about love? You're the key to everything Fernando was hiding—and now they want you silenced."
***
Later that night, under a stormy Sicilian sky, the trio drove to the countryside estate Fernando kept hidden from everyone—even his own family. There, Isabella met the only two people left who mattered to him: Elena, his fiercely loyal cousin, and Leo, his mentor and former bodyguard.
"You brought her here?" Elena asked with disbelief. "After what happened with your mother?"
Fernando's jaw clenched. "She's not like the others."
But even as they sought safety, secrets curled like smoke through the old villa. In the quiet hours, Fernando and Isabella found themselves alone on the balcony, rain misting their skin, heat burning in their eyes.
"You shouldn't want me," he murmured, voice low. "I destroy everything I touch."
"I don't know how to do this," he confessed. "You… affect me in ways no one has. I've killed, lied, built empires in the shadows—but you? You ruin every wall I've built."
Her heart raced. "I never asked you to let me in."
"I know," he said, voice rough. "But I let you in anyway."
A tear slipped from her eye. He caught it with his thumb, his touch almost reverent.
"I should hate you," she whispered. "But I don't."
"You should," he said. "But I'll make sure you never do."
They stood there, in that fragile moment between danger and love, war and surrender.
Then, unexpectedly, he pulled her into a tight embrace. Not hungry. Not lustful. Just desperate. He held her like she was the only thing anchoring him to whatever humanity he had left.
"I want to protect you from everything, Isabella," he murmured. "Even from myself."
Her fingers clutched the back of his shirt. "Then stop hiding from me."
And just like that, a shift happened. Not loud. Not grand. But permanent. Their hearts, already twisted around each other, tightened.
Outside, the city moved on. Inside, two broken people held on like the world would crumble without them.
But they had no idea what storm was waiting just beyond the horizon.
Because loving a man like Fernando… always comes with a price.